After a successful premiere on BBC4, Britain Goes Camping will be shown on BBC2 at 10pm on Sunday 8th August, a sign of both the documentary’s and the subject’s appeal.

Earlier this year, Cath and myself spent a day filming with Brian and his small crew, and some of that interview footage is included in the programme. This is my favourite section as it includes a close-up of my Dad as a young man

The crew accompanied us on an early Spring camp in March. The ground was hard with frost and the trees were bare. The first camp of the year is invariably disorganised and fretful, but in this particular case, circumstances were against us; Cath seemed shivery and weak and I was aware of a sickness creeping upon me. But Brian and his crew had travelled from Ireland for the filming and there was no way I would disappoint them so we pressed on, prepping and packing for a cold night outdoors.

“Had the TV crew  stuck around, they would have witnessed horrors”

The crew put us at our ease, thanks to Brian’s careful and friendly manner. But due to our growing illness, any hope we might have entertained as to putting on good front was quashed; we undertook our child and tent tasks with our characteristic stoicism, but we lacked the energy to brush our hair and scrub the crayon from the walls for their arrival. After a brief interview at our flat, we headed into the outdoors.

At the campsite, we erected the tent and then conducted separate interviews with Brian. Once filming was done, the crew departed for their bed and breakfast. The night fell quickly, and the land grew cold. Cath shivered. I broke out in a sweat. In any other circumstances, I would have broken camp and headed for home. But I couldn’t. The scandal about television fakery was uppermost on my mind, of people pretending to do things and then not. I would not go on camera eulogising camping and then break for home at the first sign of trouble.

Had the TV crew stuck around, they would have witnessed horrors.

“No, I would not be a TV faker. We would stick it out”

I lit a fire and the barbecue but was unprepared for the overwhelming blackness of the night. The barbecue has a lid and so was effectively invisible to the small children swarming around me. The fire made no inroads into the dark. For safety’s sake, I decided to tip the barbecue into the fire, burning my fingertips in the process. Agony! I ran around in the blackness wailing my lot, cursing my condition, chased by hungry screaming children. A handful of sausages survived the crisis. The two toddlers wolfed them down. Neither Cath nor myself felt like eating, and our eldest child was swaying and sickening.

Surely I should drive us home.

No, I would not be a TV faker. I would not join the ranks of the pampered presenters who had cut and run. The honour of camping was at stake.

In retrospect, I was far too mad at this point to drive. Mad with the night, and the sickness. We attempted bedtime. A fitful hour of sleep was had, and then the vomiting began.

We had swine flu.

One unexpected consequence of inoculating the toddlers against swine flu was that they were bursting with energy and wanting attention and activity at the same time as Cath, myself and our eldest daughter, Alice, were crawling around the groundsheet in a hallucinatory condition of perpetual evacuation.

At four in the morning, the only one of our party still awake, I spent a tense five minutes thinking I was about to die. Ever considerate, I did not wake Cath to inform her of this, reasoning that it would be better for everyone if they slept through my death, and then cleared up after me in the morning.

Could I drive home now, I wondered? Waking the children and loading them into the car was easy. Driving along dark field and the night lanes less so. And there was the risk, what with my impending death, that driving might be beyond me.

No, I would not be a TV faker. We would stick it out. The swine flu wrung me out like a wet cloth, then dawn arrived with its meagre gifts, a weak grey haze and two spoonfuls of warmth.

The sickness abated. I took the family to a National Trust cafe. The toddlers fell ravenously upon the cakes while their filthy stinking parents ignored the quizzical looks from the other families, so immaculate in their unstained skiing jackets.

I look forward to watching Britain Goes Camping, and to discovering what Brian and his team have unearthed concerning the history of camping; Hopefully, in my brief appearance, I do not come across as unduly deranged.

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I am a big fan of the Port Eliot festival, being their very first paid customer way back when. I have been researching We Are Camping for a year now. For the event, I will lead festival goers through the campsite while talking about the meaning and history of camping.

At the festival, I will also be lecturing at the Idler’s Academy on How Not To Write, on Friday 23rd July at 4pm and collaborating with daughter on a story for the inspiring House of Fairy Tales at 5.15pm on the Saturday.

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Totem Pole at Abbey Farm campsite in the Cotswolds

As satisfying as well chosen gear is, objects and consumption are not the point of camping; while a newspaper is not the right place to admit to feelings of mysticism in the night woods, I will give full vent to camping mysticism at my forthcoming event at Port Eliot Festival, We Are Camping.

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The campsite is at the end of a winding woodland path, necessitating a twenty minute trek pushing your kit in a wheelbarrow. I have no wheelbarrow skills, never having worked on a building site, and it was only last weekend when I barrowed my kit across the entire length of Glastonbury that I discovered the trick of tying all your gear together and then securing the heaped bundle to the barrow with an X of rope. So I made more of a meal of this task at Dernwood than was necessary.

The allure of wild camping is freedom. Freedom to have a campfire, freedom to arrange your camp as you see fit. And there is plenty of freedom at Dernwood. Our party consisted of a dozen adults and a dozen children, so the pitch-where-you-like system meant we could circle our wagons as we pleased.

My campfire skills are basic. I set bricks around a shallow fire pit, and sparked up the logs. The job of building and maintaining this fire was quickly taken up by two more experienced firebugs, and soon they were prepping wood, and erecting an ad-hoc cooking tripod from cast-iron lantern stands. The sight of iron and fire made my heart leap, and the boys crowded around the men, fascinated by this primal display.

Wild camping demands responsibility, especially when it comes to waste. At Dernwood Farm, I barrowed everyone’s rubbish back to the recycling bins at the entrance. When you spend the best part of an hour “putting the bins out” you are confronted with the fact of your own consumption. All that thoughtlessly acquired packaging at the supermarket comes back to haunt you. Most wild camping sites make no provision for rubbish. You are expected to take it away with you, and this is something to consider when you are loading up.

The facilities at Dernwood Farm stretch to a single WC toilet and water pipe. Check in at the farm on your way in to pay for your pitch and firewood. They also have freezers of their meat for sale.

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At sunset, Cloud Farm staged a spectacular display of Gavs: a low mauve cloudscape gathered underneath a spectrum of purples enlivened with a streak of red

Of all the places we camped that rainy August, Cloud Farm was my favourite, and I will return. Like all good sites, you are encouraged to park away from the tents, only driving down to pitch or pack up. There was a good shop stocked with real ale and a cafe that the locals spoke warmly about. We wandered down to a pair of small fields and pitched beside a river, which was fenced off from our inquiring toddlers. Snug between the flanks of the valley, I set a fire. The last time I saw Tom, he demonstrated his device for checking the moisture level in logs; the Cloud Farm shop sold some wickedly dry wood, and soon I was roasting marshmellows over its uninhibited dancing flames.
I spent most of my twenties working and writing for The Idler. As Deputy Editor, I was part of a trio consisting of Tom, myself and art director and co-founder, Gavin Pretor-Pinney.

Gavin Pretor-Pinney, Matthew De Abaitua and Tom Hodgkinson of The Idler

Situated in Clerkenwell in the 1990s and the fun bit of the new millennium, we took full advantage of the city. Since those happy carefree days, each of us has sought out an individual vision of the English pastoral: while I beaver away on a book about camping, Tom’s bestseller How To Be Free posits a way of life that draws on medievalism and rural self-sufficiency; Gavin has enjoyed such international success with his Cloudspotting books that I can no longer gaze up at the clouds without thinking of him. My daughter even calls clouds “Gavs”.

At sunset, Cloud Farm staged a spectacular display of Gavs: a low mauve cloudscape gathered underneath a spectrum of purples enlivened with a streak of red. Purple is the colour of inbetween, the veil between reality and imagination, day and night. For a moment, I was transported out of my immediate responsibilities, that carousel of Dad Tasks, and experienced a sense of well-being that lasted until the sun went down; the silent knowing wisdom of idleness about which we had spent our hectic twenties extolling, but rarely experiencing.

Where is Cloud Farm?

View Campsites, campfires, UK in a larger map
Doone Valley
Oare, Lynton, EX35 6NU
01598 741 234

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Luke had foraged wooden stakes for fuel; they were laid flat upon the long, dry grass, their tips aflame in the fire pit. As the stakes burned, he got up and adjusted their length. It was not the safest of arrangements; the edges of the pit smouldered as the fire spread along the stake, and visitors tripped over them in the dark. But he seemed to know what he was doing. For the weekend, he was the keeper of the flame.

The conversation turned to meat. Rupert had been to St John’s Market in Liverpool and watched a man auction off bags of assorted meats. Five quid a bag. Ten quid for a bigger bag. No indication of the contents. Just meats, a variety thereof. Cath remembered the tripe and tongue stall at St John’s. Then Luke mentioned the grill steaks advert that made a grand claim of their “pocket of juice”. Other processed burgers lacked this pouch of indeterminate fluid. They were dry. The design flaw of high fat content was made into a point of differentiation and that was why I was laughing, at the thought of all the meetings and money that had gone into marketing the advantage of a “pocket of juice”.

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Two baby backpacks with rain cover and rain suit

1. Sleeping
Where will they sleep? Tiny babies who can’t roll over go in Samsonite pop-up cots and then their larger bubble cot, which accommodates them until they are 18 months old. Vaude and Little Life also make good travel cots to use from birth to about two years old.

Keeping children warm at night is crucial. Each my babies slept in a double-layered sleeping bag with zip-on sleeves. Doubling or tripling the number of children in one room also keeps them warm – like gerbils. I take small sheepskin rugs to go under the cot for extra insulation. For older children, thermarest trail mats suffice. They do not require as much puff as a standard blow-up bed.
Tents are hot places in the day, making afternoon naps a problem; I often wheeled the baby around in the buggy, letting them nod on as and when. A sun shade for the buggy is essential.
The worst part of camping with babies is traipsing around a tent in the middle of the night in your long johns looking for clean nappies, wipes or bottles. Try to keep the tent tidy and these essential items close to hand. Glow sticks make good night lights for toddlers and will give you enough light to change them by without startling them.

2. Eating
Breast milk is by far the most convenient food for a baby on holiday. There are no storage or hygiene issues to take care of.
Cleaning bottles and keeping enough milk is particularly troublesome at festivals; when I went to Glastonbury, I planned ahead and breastfed my youngest daughter, only knocking it on the head (breastfeeding not the baby) when I returned.

One top tip is to freeze the milk before you leave and then put it in a coolbag. The frozen bottles act as ice packs, keeping your other provisions cool.
At other times, I have nagged stall-holders for hot water to wash baby bottles with, and Math has even bought a glass of milk from them when required. For older, weaned babies make sure you arrive at camp with a couple of meals already prepped. Give them something to munch on while you pitch camp. They have no patience when it comes to their bellies, and will not wait while you struggle with the tent, so it’s up to you to have foresight.

3. Weather
It will rain and your baby will want to crawl out of the tent to play in the puddles; waterproof suits (Muddy Puddles and Bush Baby make these) and waterproof booties (Bush Baby, Togz and Barts all make these) are good protection. If it is sunny the usual sun-cream, hats, full body coverage applies. Wellies for everyone.

4. Playing
Babies love the outdoors: they love the sounds of birdies singing, moo cows mooing and the wind blowing through the trees. They are quite interested in sticks they find on the ground and they like pulling grass up in their chubby little hands. Let them; dirt and the fresh air is why you took them camping.

5. Pitching
It’s hard to pitch a tent and look after the baby at the same time, especially if your tent requires two pairs of hands to erect. Arriving late at night is always pretty tough. Try your utmost to get there in daylight hours. Do a dry run and practise pitching any new tents before you travel, even if it means pitching it in the local park.

More >>> 6-10 Tips for Camping with Kids

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Trangia, grill and campfire, small gas stove and camping kettle

Using the grill, the tin foil, with lock-and-lock containers and mixing bowl

Plates, bowls, melamine mugs and a chopping board
We experimented with folding plastic mugs and plates, which I was adept at assembling but which completely defeated Math. I replaced them with melamine equivalents that should last us until the end of time.

Cath’s camping gear checklist:
Camping Gear – Tent and the basics

Camping Gear – Camping cookware

Camping Gear – Food and drink

Camping Gear – Hygiene

Camping Gear – Sleeping bags and camping lanterns

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